Backdraft
by Elena7
Summary: Continuing C. J Cherryh's Heavy Time and Hellburner, Paul Dekker and Ben Pollard fight it out. (It isn't a very good attempt at Cherryh, but I just finished Hellburner and was devastated that there was no more... ):


1.

The hard cold metal seemed to penetrate the very air of the place, making the young ensign shift restlessly, trying to draw a breath.

Breath...

It seemed just a breath ago, before the MP's had showed up outside his room, stern faced and tight lipped, awaking him rudely as they drug him from his bunk half-dressed. He'd been marched here, feebly protesting, eyes still hazy with fatigue, pulse accelerating crazily...his pills were in the barracks, much help. He'd better try to calm himself.

One calm, steady, breath-then another. He let the air out slowly, between his teeth, tried to unlock his jaw, but fear and cold held it clamped shut. Dekker closed his eyes, tried to think.

It was blurred. Last night- morning, really, he'd come back and stumbled into his bunk. Ben was asleep-or had been, because he'd opened one eye long enough to glare at Dek before he'd collapsed into his blankets, only partially undressed. He seemed to recall someone's voice, "Just sleep," and a gentle tug of covers being drawn up, but he'd thought then that it was only a dream...

Ben hadn't been in the room when he was taken out, he hoped Ben wasn't in trouble because of him, because of something he'd done...he hoped not.

Dekker tried to sit up, snatched at the wall and fell back as his fingers scraped along it's smooth surface. His mattress was hard and smelled musty; as if it hadn't been used in a long time. As if this room hadn't been used in a long time. There wasn't much light coming from the barred entrance, just enough to glint off the steelly metal floor.

Since there was only a bed-if you could call it that, a lumpy mattress half his length laid out onto the bare floor, and a blanket, he doubted this was much more than a temporary holding cell.

He drifted, then, in and out of sleep, too aware of the bone chilling damp to rest easily. Hours must have passed, and he began to feel faint from lack of food, doubtless increased by the absence of his daily mineral prescription. There was no answer to his calls, no whisper in the darkness, only the crazy beating of his pulse in his ears. Dek had the eerie feeling that he was all alone in the bottom of a pit, forgotten.

He wrapped the flimsy blanket about his bare skin and tried to warm up, rocking back and forth on the bed, flexing his arms and legs, counting steadily to the thump of his heart. He tried reciting little lines he'd made up, about the people he knew. It was a childish pasttime, but it calmed his nerves, and brought a smile to his face.

Sometime during the Ode to Colonel Porey (which closely resembled an Earth Poem he'd once heard about an old man,'Father William'), he must have drifted off, for the next thing he knew, he was lying against the icy planking, his blanket wrapped tightly around him, and someone was repeating, "wake up, Dekker, it's alright-"

The MP threw open the cell, stumbled against Dekker's body in the dark. Behind him, Lt.Graff pushed forward and knelt before the slender ensign who was curled up against the bars. "Dekker, wake up. Dekker!" He shook him and frowned as Dek lifted a tousled head, eyes blank."Come on, Dekker!"

Dek pressed a hand to his face and blinked. "Graff! What's going on?"

"Could I have some light?," the lieutenant muttered, irritably, to his escort. He sat back and looked at Paul as the bright light flooded the hall."How are you?" 

The ensign rose to his feet, angrily rubbing some of the light out of his eyes, and steadied himself with a hand against the wall.

"Why am I being held? What about my friends?"

"You're being held for your own safety. The others are alright."

"For my own safety?"

"Yes. We have reason to believe some one may have made an attempt on your life."

Dekker lowered himself to his mattress."You mean like the pod? But-"

"I can't tell you much more yet. When I can, I will. Until then, only a few people know where you're at. There are MP's guarding the hall, this is the only cell in the west end. You should be safe here, for the present."

"Do my friends know where I am?"

The lieutenant laughed humorlessly."Your friend, Pollard, has been causing such a row amongst the men it's a wonder the whole Fleet doesn't know where you're at. He's been accusing me of all kinds of crimes in association with you."

Dek smiled faintly.

"So I had him shipped over here, but he's going to have to stay, too, until we get things cleared up. I'll stop by to update you myself whenever I can."

A scuffle in the hall just then interrupted anything Dekker was going to say, and Ben poked his head into the cell, followed by a small, angry escort of extremely verbal MP's.

"Dekker." He looked the young ensign over, frowned."Are you alright?" He turned to the lieutenant. "Could I have a word with you?"

Graff sighed and nodded, motioning the MP's aside. He turned to Ben in the hall, taking pains to curb his irritation with the man.

"Is it standard policy to drag a man down here in the middle of the night, especially one with an extensive medical record, without his clothes? It's as cold as-"

Graff cut him off, with an angry wave of his hand."I was more concerned with the men obeying my orders to see to Dekker's safety than making sure he had his robe and slippers, ENsign."

Ben curbed his anger, nodded tightly. "He has to take medication...or his pulse is going to knock him right out. He gets wired, and hallucinary, starts jabbering about time, thinks he's in that freighter accident with his girl, over and over again, and I'm supposed to stay with him? Without knocking his lights out the first two minutes?" Ben clenched his jaw."He needs his medication. He needs his clothes. He needs a decent bed, some food-"

Dek leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of all that was going on. Ben was arguing with Graff, over him, he thought, and almost smiled. Ben, who always threatened to kill him, who treated him worse then dirt and had called him more names under the sun...the room tilted hazily and he slid to his knees ...

Ben sat on his bed after the medic had left, watching Dek with half his attention. The other half was reflecting over the consternation he had seen in Graff's face when one of the MP's had hurried out to inform him Ensign Dekker was out cold. It made him chuckle to himself, that piece of work. Dekker couldn't have picked a better time to keel over.

Dek came to in stages, like when he'd been put under in the hospitals. He hated the feeling it always left him with, the flat-on-your-back feeling. He shifted his head, and felt someone watching him. Ben.

The kid looked terrible. His face was pale and yet flushed, eyes glassy and shadowed, mouth kept tensing. He and the medic had gotten some heavier clothing onto him, tucked him into the real bed brought in. Dekker was so small, for all his fire, that when you saw him like that, the fine features, face all open and honest in sleep, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He seemed so fragile, even like this...and trusting. Ben hated it when people got that mute, trusting look in their eyes-it made him feel responsible for them and Ben was fiercly independent. Or was he, anymore? What was he doing in this hole with Dekker, anyways? Some would say he was getting soft. Oh, not to his face. But they would think it.

When Dekker turned to him, and said, "Ben?" he answered more harshly than he would have. "What?"

"I did it again, didn't I? I got you into trouble."

Ben softened. "No, you didn't. I asked to check up on you. Only problem was, I found out I had to stay. How are you feeling?"

"Not so bad." Dekker turned to the wall and buried his face in a pillow. Dark, the dark, jagged lines reaching across it, red. Red as blood. A fist, a fist reaching out to crush him...Salazar. No, no, it wasn't. It was Corey. 'You killed me. You let me die. You killed me, Paul Dekker, and I loved you! Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you come for me?' Paul bit his lip until he tasted blood, the sharp, tanget taste bringing him closer to reality. Corey. Corey was dead. Accident. Accident, not his fault! Not his fault..."not my fault," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Corey."

"Dek, mess time." Ben's voice penetrated the hypo-induced haze that seemed to wrap his mind in a cold, dark blanket of memories. Then, more impatient, it was illustrated with a cuff on the cheek. "Hey!"

Dek rolled over, not even minding the roughness...it was...just, well, Ben. And that was reassuring in itself. All the people, places in his life seemed to be under constant change, the process of elimination. But Ben...he'd never get caught in that process. Which was why he made Dek feel safe. Ben was stable. And he was not, Dek reflected, as he tried to sit up and slammed his head into the rough wall.

Ben grabbed his shoulder and straightened him, pushing a tray under his nose. "Pancakes, today. They just said eggs or, and I won't eat those, so-"

Dek waved a hand. "It's okay, I'm not really hungry, anyways. I'll just take the juice."

"Uh-uh. No way, moonbeam. I'll take the heat if you fall off your diet."

Dek shook his head-tightly. "Ben, just leave it."

"Feeling sorry for ourself?" Ben almost sneered. "Well, I'm stuck here, too, no fault of _mine_, so how about you just shut up and quit being a spook?"

A pale bit of color washed into Dek's face, Ben could tell he was getting angry-well, good. Then he'd quit being such an effin' human being.

But he turned over and wedged himself against the wall, leaving Ben to stare at his unyielding "let me be" position.

Pollard's hands twitched; he wanted to grab that pretty boy and wipe the cold glare off his face. Rub it _into_ the wall!

He crossed the narrow cell and yanked Dek's pillow and blankets off him, chancing the little brat's wrath."You want these, you get up and fetch them!" He wedged them out the narrow bars and let them fall into the hall, a small smile of satisfaction on his face. But his smugness was short lived; as he turned, a balled fist struck him in his nose, and he fell back in surprise. Dekker, in baggy blue fatigues, stood over him, eyes flashing darkly. Ben leapt away from the bars and drove his own shot into the young ensign's stomach. Dek staggered, caught himself and kicked out, but he was unsteady and Ben snatched his leg and shoved him against the far wall. He managed a glancing hit or two as Ben pushed him onto the bed and swung _hard_.

"Get off me!" Dek sounded furious.

"Not until you can show some manners, you psycho !"

Ben twisted a hand into Dek's shirt front and pulled him up."D'ya hear me? Manners! Something you haven't got!"

Dek struggled to free himself. "I don't need manners dealing with a chooka like you!"

Ben laughed. "Well, since you haven't any friends to speak of, your mama doesn't give crap about you, you kill everyone else off, I wouldn't say _I'm _ the one with the problem, moonbeam!"

Dek swung wildly. "Shut up! Shut UP!"  
Ben only laughed, a cold, mirthless sound, and let him go. Dek hit the mattress with a thump and curled into a tiny ball, his dark tousled hair giving him a rakish appearance as he squeezed himself into the corner where the bed met the wall. Ben let his anger go with a long, hissing breath, watched him silently.

After several minutes, he cleared his throat."Dek?"

No answer. He kicked the bed and let out an explosive,"spook!" but he didn't hit him again. And he could of. Another time, Ben wouldn't hesitate. But it seemed wrong, somehow.

Dek let his emotions fade, as he lie there, the red mists not far away. He could hear Pollard in the background...knew he was angry. Probably had a right to be. Because what he said was true. Ben was right. Everything he touched died, as if Dek was somehow a spectre of death. The thought made him cold. He shivered a little. Ben knew it, _he_ knew it, maybe his mother knew it, too. Gosh knows, they told him often enough. Maybe he should leave them. Leave Meg, and Ben, Sal...before something awful happened to them. They were happy here..in the program. They had come to find him, but now they were happy, had a mission, a life. He had helped them find that. Maybe it was time to go. But where? The program was the only life _he_ had...now. 

Ben pushed a flabby pancake around on his tray, being none too quiet in his movements. Let the moonbeam know he was upset. Dek hadn't stirred for the past two hours...he wasn't asleep, Ben guessed by his breathing. It was quick, erratic, no telling what was going on inside that head.

It must have been a couple hours later when he jerked awake from his boredom induced nap- there was a strange sniffling noise, which turned out to be Dek, sitting in the farthest corner, where the light didn't reach. Dek's head was against his knees, encircled by hands buried in rolled up cuffs that somehow made Ben think of him as a lost little kid. Which he wasn't!

"What is it, Dekker?"

Of course, he didn't respond. That would have been the sane, mature thing to do. Ben heaved himself off the bed, deliberately pulling on his socks and folding the blanket into a neat square before approaching him.

"Dek?"

Behind him, something rustled. Ominously. Ben turned -and was shoved against the wall by two of the guards."What in the name-" one of them slapped him across the mouth, making his eyes water. He lunged forward, knocking the shorter of the two into cell bars when a third man appeared. His face was unfamiliar, eyes as cold and icy as deepest space. "If you persist in causing trouble, M. Pollard, I shall have to see to it that you are stopped."

Ben sneered at him. "I'm not afraid of a stupid spacer threat!"

He dodged as a guard swung at him with his stick, but the leader held out a hand.

"Stop. M. Pollard isn't afraid of a little pain, I can see that. Use the weapon on his partner."

Ben stepped protectively in front of Dek, who wasn't protesting, making him worry no little about the cause of _that_. "Don't touch him."

"On equal terms, M. Pollard, I might be persuaded by that. As it is, however-you are on vastly lower ground."

A fourth man entered, and as Ben was shoved aside, he swung the stick, which connected with Dek's wrist. Ben winced in sympathy as Dek gritted his teeth, silent as he himself would have been, which kind of proved that Dek could take it. It made Ben proud, insanely enough.

"Alright, get them out of here." Three of the guards hustled Ben into the hall; the leader turned to Dek, a nasty smile on his face. "Join us, M. Dekker?"

Dek looked up slowly, mouth tight lipped in a way that spelled trouble."Not unless you let _him_ go. It's me you want."

Ben shook his head, but the other only laughed."M. Dekker, _you_ are expendable. Part of the plan is to see that that is carried out. M. Pollard has another value to us." He motioned to the guard on Ben's left. "Leston, get him up."

"Leston" advanced on Dek, who pulled himself upright, using his good hand, even though his face was white with pain. "I'll do it on my own," he bit out. Leston stepped back, unsure of himself. Ben saw the two metal circlets in his grasp, sensed his unease.

"M. Leston, if you please!"

"Sir-"

Steely Eyes bored into Dek. "Give me your word, you won't cause any trouble?"

Ben urged Dek to agree, nodding his head sharply, but the ensign stared staight back at the leader, just as defiant, and smiled tightly. "As long as I can crawl, I'll try to kick your -"

Lester hastily slipped a ring over his wrist, cutting off the last of the sentence with a sharp intake of breath. Ben shook his head. Dekker could sure be a spook, but he acted crazier than even Ben imagined. The kid was tough as nails. He gave him an encouraging look, but Dek wasn't having any of it. He stalked by Steelly Eyes, chin up.

In the hallway, Ben caught sight of a dozen different guards, Fleet, like the rest of them, and he raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "What, the whole effin' _Fleet_ is in on this?"

"No, M. Pollard, not all of it."

Ben turned in shock. "Com. Porey!"

Dek faced the Com. with an angry frown."Was this some kind of a joke, sir?"

Porey leaned in close, Dek could feel the man breathing,"Do I strike you as the type, ENSIGN?"

"It was a test," the man called Lester interjected, nervously. "It was orders, I'm awfully sorry, I-"

"Enough." Porey pinned Dekker with his eyes. "There has been talk-a lot of talk, Dekker, that you were going to crack, that you couldn't hold up under the strain. I had to make sure you wouldn't blow under a pressure situation-there are far too many lives at risk. I couldn't chance that because your feelings might be hurt." He began to walking away, towards the end of the hall, and most of the guards scattered and followed, unusually quiet. Ben caught the eye of one of them-an ensign who was always picking fights with them-Meg, or Dek-he was openly amused, shouldered roughly past Ben and slammed into Dek, who caught his wrist and let out a low exclamation.

As they walked down the long hall to the upper level, Ben glanced worriedly at Dek, who was stony faced and silent.

A Fleet Officer-Graff-strode up and laid an arm on Dek's shoulder. "Dek, you okay?"

The ensign shrugged his hand off and looked away.

Graff sighed. "Yes, I knew about the little test, but I had no idea it was going to go this far. If I had, I would have warned you, even if it meant displeasing Porey. You know that-are you sure you're okay? Let's get some food-"

Ben shook his head silently, _no_."Dek hurt his wrist. Sprained, I think."

"I didn't hurt it; anyway, it's not bad. I want to go to my barracks."

Ben stopped him."Dek, we're going to get you checked out first."

The ensign ignored him, but Graff cut in, sharply, with "It's an order, EN. Dekker!"

So they went. Ben wisely kept to himself as they made their way down the corridor. It was Dekker who broke the silence, right before they arrived at the Med Center.

"You know, if that was as scary as Porey could get, I sincerely doubt it'll help determine my sanity."

Ben shook his head as a medic hurried Dekker away."I'll get the girls and save a table for us." 


End file.
